Sanctuary: Snowflakes
by lupinskitten
Summary: The holidays arrives at the Sanctuary, bringing with it an unexpected appearance from John Druitt, a host of abnormals for the annual Christmas party, and a slip of the fingers that might spell disaster for the resident werewolf...
1. Chapter 1

**Snowflakes**

Wisps of white coated the mullioned windows of the Sanctuary. It was usually noisy inside but the slowly drifting snow and the sense of peace that descended over the manor made its inhabitants tranquil. Once-gloomy corridors were garnished with blinking twinkle lights, flashing blue and white at regular intervals. Boughs of holly draped around the rods of the winding staircase that descended into the entry hall, where an enormous tree stood surrounded by open cardboard boxes teeming with festive decorations. Henry was precariously perched atop a ladder that had seen better days, Will had become thoroughly entangled in a strand of lights, and Ashley was digging through the battered boxes in search of her favorite ornaments.

"I don't see why we're making all this fuss," Henry complained from the top of the ladder.

Ashley pulled out a snow globe and shook it, creating tiny tendrils of white that snowballed around the miniature town. Will pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one finger and continued to untangle the light stands, now blinking at an abnormally fast rate and threatening to expire in a single brilliant flash. "For the same reasons we did it last year," Ashley replied, "and the year before that, and for all the years since you can remember. Stop whining and keep going."

"Why don't _you_ get up here and put up these stupid ornaments?" Henry waved one hand in the general direction of the half-completed tree and the ladder wobbled dangerously. Ashley rolled her eyes and tossed him a glass ball. He caught it and reluctantly hung it on the nearest branch. Disappearing beneath the lower fringe of green, Will managed to plug in the last strand and the tree lit up. Several branches slapped him across the back of the head as he arose, but he dusted off his hands, proud of his handiwork.

"Be careful with that one," Ashley said as Henry pulled a beautiful crystal snowflake out of the box, "it's Mom's—"

It slipped through his fingers and shattered on the floor below.

"—favorite," she finished.

All of them looked woefully at the shards scattered across the polished floor.

"Damn," said Henry, "how much of a favorite?"

"Favorite as in the only ornament she ever really cared about." Ashley knelt to examine the broken pieces; it would be impossible to repair. "Someone gave it to her, a long time ago."

Her expression transformed as she heard the familiar click-click of her mother's Prada heels in the upper corridor. Ashley grabbed the nearest box and hid what remained of the snowflake, rising as her mother came down the stairs, looked up from her list of scheduled activities, and viewed the series of guilty faces with mild suspicion. Descending several more steps, she tilted her head and drifted her gaze from Henry, who looked rather green atop the leaning ladder, to Will, who was carefully cleaning something off his glasses, to her daughter, who had the expression on her face that often accompanied bad news.

"What happened?"

Henry waffled and made an effort to put up another decoration, avoiding her gaze. Hands in his pockets, Will tried to look nonplussed and utterly failed. Stepping forward, Ashley lied, "Nothing. We were just arguing over the tree. Will thinks it would have been better across the room, and Henry is whining about having to help." She sent him a warning glance and his mouth, opened to protest, snapped shut.

One of Helen's eyebrows arched. It was apparent she did not believe them, but in the spirit of gentility, she peered into the nearest box. "Make sure you decorate all the way around this year," she said. "Last Christmas one of our guests complained."

"Well, if he hadn't climbed up the wall _behind _the tree like a miniature Spiderman, he wouldn't have noticed." Ashley picked up the nearest ornament and dutifully headed for the back corner beside the staircase as her mother continued down the hall to check on the progress in the kitchens. It was no small event to feed an army of abnormal but each Christmas she had them praising her delicacies and marveling over the thoughtfulness behind each chosen dish. Helen was nothing if not loved, and for more than her generous nature.

"So what exactly is a party for abnormals like?" Will glanced up at Henry wavering dangerously on the ladder. Chastened, Henry hung an assortment of glass balls on the sweetly-smelling boughs. Ashley reappeared from behind the tree, her blonde hair mussed from the branches. Picking over the ornaments and choosing the ugliest ones to hide against the wall, she said, "It's like every other social gathering you have ever been to. You have to keep some of the guests apart in case a fight breaks out; others shouldn't be allowed to sample the eggnog or they start breathing fire; there will be a few rude, tactless questions and a surge around the buffet table. Inevitably, half of them will get drunk and start singing obnoxious Christmas carols at the top of their lugs. But all of them are fairly mild-mannered, and adore Mom, so they come every year and pretend to get along for a few hours just to make her happy. She does it so she can check on the ones that refuse to come here, or haven't been discovered yet by humans and forced to seek refuge. Some of them are homeless, and this is the only kindness they will experience in months, because it's the only time of year Mom is 'allowed' to help them."

Sadness was in her voice, for she knew how lonely existence as an abnormal outside the Sanctuary could be. She saw it every day among their associates and friends, a mostly peaceful species of unique creatures that lived among side humans but never became close to any of them. Henry had fallen silent and she knew he was thinking about his own abnormal tendencies, and how without Helen's support he might not have had a family either. They were all misfits, from Bigfoot to Henry the Werewolf, to Will and his super-smart brain. Her mother had longevity, and she had… well, what did she have exactly, but a fierce, unquenchable anger that she vented through violence?

"_I am NOT LIKE YOU!"_ That's what she had screamed at her father when he had confronted her about her temper. His knowing smile had made her even angrier. She was not like John Druitt, a sociopath, a serial killer. Ashley tightened her fingers and the ornament she was holding snapped in her hand. A few drops of blood mingled with glitter as she threw it into the nearest box. Will and Henry hadn't noticed and she turned her back to them, repressing her frustration. Sometimes, late at night, she stood in front of the mirror in her room and studied her reflection, attempting to discern if she _was _like him. If she looked like him, moved like him, acted like him. And as much as she hated to admit it, there was a resemblance.

The sudden loud thud behind her alerted her to the fact that Henry had toppled off the ladder, and they rushed over to him as he sat up, somewhat dazed. There was a perceptive cracking sound as he tilted his head and stretched his neck muscles, the benefit of having rapid-healing werewolf blood in his veins. "I'm fine," he said begrudgingly, knowing he would be back on the ladder in minutes. It was a suitable distraction and soon they were all laughing and teasing one another as they finished the tree, pausing to drink hot chocolate when Bigboot brought it up on a tray. There were a couple of rounds of badly-sung Christmas carols before everything was finished, and all parted to get dressed for the party. The last box was put away in the hall closet and the remnants of the crystal snowflake swept up and thrown away. Ashley hoped her mother would be too preoccupied to notice it wasn't in its usual place of honor. She would figure out how to explain its absence later.

Henry retreated to the lab and had his feet up on the desk when Helen rounded the corner, on her way upstairs after a visit with "Sally," the local mermaid. "Henry, our guests will start arriving in an hour," she said. "You can lower the energy field shortly before their arrival. We don't want another incident like last year."

Last Christmas, it had taken two boxes of expensive European wine and Helen speaking four different languages to avoid trouble when several of their guests had been unable to enter the premises due to the energy barrier. Henry was not about to make that mistake again and nodded. He might as well do it now, while he was thinking about it. He flipped the switch as she entered the elevator and rode it to the second floor. Two-Faced Guy was assisting Bigfoot and several other abnormals in setting up the table. "Tell him to behave himself tonight," Helen warned him, as his alternate face scowled at her. The young man saluted and winked. Her response was a stern glance that softened as she turned her back, for he knew she liked him – as she liked all the creatures in her domain, from the fiercest monsters to the most docile, human-like refugees.

The upper corridor was cold, a draft coming through the high windows as snow continued to fall in the stone courtyard. Once darkness fell, a pattern of footprints would trail through the gate, bringing guests to their doorstep. Some of them would even be human, her trusted associates and friends from former years. Once, Tesla and the other members of the Five would have been among them, or even her father, but he had warned her it would be too dangerous to return for Christmas. Her heart ached as she considered how near she had come to having him back again. But they were all better off if he stayed away, and so he did, with much reluctance. He had sent her a Christmas card. There was no message and no signature, but she had known it was an indication of his love.

Entering her room, where a fire glowed in the hearth, she opened the door to her wardrobe. Changing into a black dress, she was struggling with the fastening at the small of her back when a pair of hands descended to assist her. Helen knew without turning her head who it was, her eyes closing at the caress of his fingertips, for it brought back memories of the past, distant emotions that passed fleetingly through her mind and softened her voice as she spoke. "John…"


	2. Chapter 2

"Helen." He had such a commanding tone, such a deep, romantic voice as he rested his hands on her arms and smelled the soft waves of her hair. Helen did not move as he absorbed her scent, turning her eyes toward him just enough that she could make out his sharp features in the shadows. The room was quiet, the snow drifting against the glass, the fire snapping in the hearth. John pulled away, ever the gentleman. Except for those dark hours when he had gone mad and turned murderous. Even then his sensibilities had been peculiarly warped, a gentlemanly manner to his murders that was also barbaric.

She turned to look at him and saw he was changed; his features older and careworn, strained by recent acceptance of his many crimes. Ashley had explained everything, that Tesla had tortured him into sanity. There had been a catch in her daughter's voice, an anger that resonated in her frustration that the truth had come from him, and not from Helen. Ashley would not have minded so much if Helen had told her, but she had not been able to bring herself to. How does one explain to a daughter that her father is a murderer? When Helen had first seen him after so many years apart, his eyes had been cold and distant, but now were warm and affectionate, even pained. He was waiting for a much-deserved chastisement.

"Did Ashley tell you… everything?" he asked softly. She could hear her daughter and Will in the corridor, arguing, their voices growing distant as they faded down the passage. Helen nodded, and he looked somewhat relieved but also hesitant. Her eyes shifted meaningfully to his chest and she said, "I want to see."

Moving away from her, John removed his stylish black jacket and threw it onto the bed. His narrow fingers unbuttoned the front of his shirt as she approached, pulling it open to reveal the spider veins that spiraled out from the burn marks on his chest. Helen drew in her breath and reached out to trace their unique pattern, finding the skin rough where Tesla's machine had dug into it. "Oh, John," she whispered, horrified, knowing Tesla would have employed similar methods on her if given the chance. His chest moved slightly beneath her palm, his heart beating steadily as he looked down at her. Helen could not bring herself to meet his gaze.

John placed his hand over hers. "Everything I told Ashley was the truth. Tesla, quite unintentionally I assure you, did me a favor. He has healed me."

"How can I be certain of that? You have deceived me before." Helen did not attempt to pull away as he caressed the finger where once she had worn his engagement ring. She still had it in one of the drawers of her dresser, hidden in a little velvet box. Never had she forgotten the man who had won over her heart when it was still young and naive. Before she had seen the ugliness that often accompanied love, the pain it could cause. Memories, and sorrows that accompanied them, resurfaced and she withdrew, retreating several paces.

"Would I have saved you in Rome otherwise? I wanted to spare you from the barbarities Tesla had planned. I wanted to atone for my mistakes." Helen turned to him incredulously and he hastened to add, "I know I can never erase them; I cannot make up for the lives I have taken, or the immense harm I have done you and our daughter, but I will spend every remaining moment of my life attempting to atone for my mistakes; for my sins. I don't expect anything from you, Helen, least of all your forgiveness." He crossed the room but did not reach out to her, knowing she needed him to remain distant.

There was something different about him, more than just in his eyes. It was unsettling to her, for Helen had grown accustomed to having him as an adversary. She drew in her breath to steady the pulse of her heart and said, "You told our daughter the truth of her parentage."

"I didn't. I merely told her of our previous involvement. She discerned the rest on her own. Ashley is not a fool. She would have learned the truth eventually." His features softened into a smile. "She is a great deal like you were at that age… impetuous, intelligent, and formidable."

Except that Helen had been tampering with undiluted vampire blood in an attempt to make new discoveries, and Ashley was content to roam the streets in search of abnormals. She was like both her parents, with her mother's looks and intelligence and her father's intuitive and violent nature. He had soundly beaten her twice in hand to hand combat, which had frustrated her into increased training. Ashley would never achieve his level of greatness, not without his instruction, and her mother could not permit that, not yet.

He buttoned up his shirt and reached for his jacket. "I did not come to interrupt your evening," he said as he pulled it on, straightening the sleeves and sliding his hands into his trouser pockets, "only to apologize for the abruptness of our last meeting. I wanted you to know the truth and have the opportunity to have at me if you needed to, but I see I have come at a bad time."

Rather than allow him to escape into the night as he intended, Helen stepped toward him, her voice catching in her throat as she said, "A few months ago I was stranded in the Alps when my plane went down during a snowstorm…"

John smiled. "Yes. I was there."

"I thought you were an illusion."

"And so I was, in my own way… the solution you gave me weakened me considerably, but I could still influence your dreams. I tried to wake you numerous times, but you never realized it was truly me, only believed it was a fragment of the creature's mental manipulations. But I was there, if only for an instant. I was too weak to teleport home when Ashley came for you, so I made it to London instead, where Tesla caught up with me. He was always an ingenious inventor, a manipulative mastermind, the tag-along none of us particularly cared for but who always got the best of us. I fear we have not seen the last of him."

"At least now we know his intentions." Helen had not left Rome without dealing with the vampires he had created. One had escaped with Tesla, but the others were safely hidden in the Sanctuary. Ashley had enjoyed hunting them down in the catacombs and although Helen had not seen John again, she knew he was there, keeping watch over them. It gave her an odd sense of security. "Thank you, for all you did in Rome."

Soft sounds drifted up from below, indicating her guests were beginning to arrive. John bowed but did not respond. Helen hesitated. "Our daughter has a lot of questions about you. We have hardly spoken since she discovered the truth. I often think it would easier for her to ask them of you than it would be me. She believes I lied to her, I betrayed her, and while she is attempting to forgive me, she still has a lot of anger to work through."

"What about her mother?" John inquired. She could see the anguish in his eyes, fear he had forever severed their connection and she had come to hate him, but Helen had never despised him; it was not in her nature, despite the harm he had done her. John had broken her heart, abandoned her when she needed him most, had done the most inhumane, horrible things, but somehow, perversely, she never stopped loving him. He saw her visible reaction and took her by the shoulders. "Helen, how can I make it up to you? I despise myself for my actions, for my treatment of you, for my abandonment of our child… tell me what to do and I will do it, even if it means my own destruction."

There was no way to prove he had changed, for John was clever. He had deceived her until she had innocently discovered the truth.

"Tell me," he whispered fiercely. "Tell me what to do."

A loud knock caused them to break eye contact and Ashley called out, "Mom, our guests are here!"

"Coming," Helen replied, and listened as her daughter's footsteps faded down the passage. She turned her gaze to John and found it had not altered, composed in an expression of emotional anguish. His hands slid tenderly down her arms and her skin tingled beneath the gentleness of his caress. She could remember those hands comforting her when the injection that had brought longevity had first entered her bloodstream; the hands of a former best friend and lover, offering pleasure and reassurance, pain and torment. It was unfathomable that he could still have so much power over her, but it took every ounce of determination she had to step away from him.

When she reached the door, she turned back and found the room empty behind her. Heaviness was in her heart as she descended to meet their guests, but she put on a smile. There were old friends and new acquaintances, individuals who came in out of the cold at the invitation of other abnormals and were introduced to the woman that would forever alter their lives. Young and old mingled amid conversation and refreshments. Henry gave them a tremendous light show with the assistance of his laptop, and Will led them all in a rousing round of carols. Ashley was beautiful in her short red skirt, and no one set fire to anyone else, toppled the Christmas tree, or got into a brawl. The most amusing incident of the evening came beneath the mistletoe, when Henry was forced to plant a kiss on a particularly charming girl with six fingers and cat eyes.

Snow continued to drift outside, blanketing the world in white. On several occasions, Helen thought she saw John in the shadows, but he did not remain long and she never saw him in the same place twice. His final words haunted her, the desire to believe him and the wisdom to refrain. Helen bid their guests farewell as they traipsed out into the darkness, thanked Two-Faced Guy for his help and sent him off to bed, said goodnight to Henry, told Bigfoot to let everyone sleep in the next morning, and warned Will to make certain his window was latched. Ashley got a hug and kiss before she went up to bed, promising they would all come down in the morning for presents.

Her room was cheerful, for Bigfoot had stoked the fire and turned on a lamp. Helen closed the door behind her and went to the bureau, pulling out the drawer where she had stashed the pieces of the crystal snowflake her daughter had attempted to hide from her. All that remained were fragments of the beautiful ornament John had made her for their first tree. He had been a master at shaping crystal. It was a delicate work and she was sorry to see it smashed, knowing Henry had not meant to drop it.

Six inches of snow blanketed the courtyard and it would double by morning. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, Helen climbed onto the bed and rested her head against the pillow. Eventually, her eyes closed and her breathing slowed, but she was conscious when a hand came out of the darkness to brush the hair away from her face. John sat down beside her, resting his fingertips on her shoulder as he had so often done in the past. "I'm surprised you kept it," he whispered, knowing she was awake.

Helen did not open her eyes, allowing his presence to remain no more than a distant dream. "Not everything about our love was painful to me," she answered.

There was a pause in which he remained still and quiet at her side, his warmth comforting against the chill in the room. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. The mattress moved as he arose and she heard him cross to the bureau, knowing he was picking up the fragments of their former life.

When he was gone, the room felt strangely cold without him.

Morning came, and when Ashley traipsed sleepily downstairs in her silk robe and bunny slippers, there was something different about the tree. The presents under it remained untouched and none of the ornaments had been moved, so it took her a moment to discern what had changed.

Beneath the shimmering strands of ribbon and glass ornaments was a perfect crystal snowflake.

END


End file.
